


Stay

by WraithWriter



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, i just really want a ball scene in the next book, ms. bardugo i am begging you, zoyalai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 14:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WraithWriter/pseuds/WraithWriter
Summary: At a ball celebrating the recent engagement of Ravka's young monarch and the Shu princess, the king and his general share a dance.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov & Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	1. Zoya

He looks every inch a king, impeccably dressed as always, the badges gleaming bright against the pale blue sash. His crown rarely makes an appearance, but tonight it sits atop his golden head, brilliant in the lights of the ballroom.

_ A corona for Ravka’s son and savior_, she thinks. _ For their living Saint. _

He plays the part of doting fiancé well, beaming at his soon-to-be-bride and making witty conversation with preening courtiers. The princess is seldom seen without a smile, she notes, and the bitterness that accompanies the thought catches her by surprise. Her scowl deepens as the dragon’s laugh rumbles through her.

Tonight, she is the imposter, even as the couple on the dais grins through gritted teeth. Tonight, amidst satins and jewels, the glittering scale cuffs at her wrists are more stark. Tonight, she longs for the comforting weight of armor afforded by a well-worn kefta.

Still, the gown _ is _ exquisite - fine layers of shimmering silk, pleats of liquid night and starlight. Indeed, Genya had outdone herself in its commissioning. She had squealed at the deep neckline - and then threatened murder after Zoya had rolled her eyes and suggested something more … reserved.

The Tailor had gone quiet, though, as she’d lightly traced the scars exposed by the low back. _ We match, Zo, _she had whispered after a moment, and the general hadn’t been able to help the sad smile that touched her lips.

How far they’d come from the girls so desperate to please a beautiful tyrant.

It had been enough for her to keep the dress.

Now when Genya inclines her head pointedly and slips the fluted glass from her fingers, Zoya feels dread coil in her gut. He had been trying to catch her eye for the better part of the evening, but if she were being honest, Zoya found she did not have the stomach for faking smiles tonight. She turns, nonetheless, steeling her spine.

Nikolai says nothing, only bends slightly at the waist and offers a gloved hand.

Perhaps it is the wine that has begun to hum in her blood. Maybe it’s plain politeness. Maybe it’s the cant to his mouth or the barest arch to his brow, as if daring her to decline - or to accept.

He hides well his surprise at the slip of her hand into his.


	2. Nikolai

Had he not known better, he would have said it was a Corporalnik with a vise grip on his heart. He wondered if the mere sight of her would ever stop  _ aching _ .

The gown is of darkest midnight, deeper than the blue of her usual kefta but just as stunning set against the bronze of her skin. Jeweled combs sweep back thick, jet-black waves, the same diamonds tracing the shell of her ear.

He delights in the slight tick of her slim jaw when he extends a hand, palm up. She is in rare form tonight; he can feel the crackling energy of the air - summoned or not.  _ Good. _ At least someone might share in his misery.

He would have liked to have seen what that fearsome spirit could do for this broken country, though. Given a throne. Chin lifted and shoulders thrown back, posture as severe as ever, he cannot help but think she looks every inch a queen.


	3. Zoya

“I would tell you how lovely you look, Nazyalensky, but I’d be wasting my breath. I’m certain you already know.”

“Indeed.” She settles an arm over his, a hand on his shoulder, and nods to the tinkling medals on his chest. “Impersonating a chandelier now, are you?”

“My most favorite of disguises. I’ll be the brasswork,” He smiles and flicks at the delicate crystal hanging from her ear. “You can be the sparkly bits.”

She allows him to take her hand in his, lifting the frame of their arms, and the tittering of attendees fills the silence between them once more.

Her voice is low when she asks, “What are you doing, Nikolai?”

“I am celebrating my engagement and rather quickly approaching wedding day by sharing a dance with my favored general and advisor. Surely that is within reason.” He looks pleasant enough, but there is a strain in his voice that offsets the lightness of his tone. Try as he might to hide it, the king is all nerves.

She is acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes boring into her at press of his hand to her back. “Perhaps not when the arrangement is already as volatile as it is,” she murmurs. _ And your general is a woman. _ “I should not be here.”

_ Not with you. _

“All the same,” He catches her eyes at that. “I’d like it very much if you stayed.”

Her reply catches in her throat at the quiet sorrow in those words. _ A crown for Ravka’s brilliant boy king _ , she thinks distantly. _ Weary from war and worn by peace. _

She hardly has the chance to think further before the music is lifting.

With a start of annoyance she realizes that he truly is an excellent dancer, all long strides and elegant turns. It’s that irritation alone that keeps the flicker of surprise from her face as his palm drops to the small of her back, tucking her closer.

She wonders dimly of how they must look to these posturing lords and primping ladies, whirling about the polished marble floors of the domed hall. _ If they weren’t talking before, they’ll surely be now. _ Still, part of her longs to give them something more to whisper about.

The hand on his shoulder drifts to his nape, thumb resting against his pulse. It is hammering wildly, so at odds with the utter calm of his face. 

Seemingly all at once, there is no room to think between the thrum of drink in her blood and pull of song, the feel and smell of _ him _.


	4. Nikolai

At some point, the space between them dropped from inches to nothing. Now neither can so much as take in breath without becoming physically aware of the  _ so very slight _ distance between their pounding hearts.

He swears a current pushes at their heels, tugging at her skirts. The music crescendos, a swell that takes the wind from his lungs as surely as the raging storm of a woman in his arms.

They are sharing breath as the final notes are drowned by a smattering of applause. The bare skin of her back is warm to the touch, even through his gloves, as if the dragon slumbering in her veins has cracked an eye.

The moment stretches for too long, though, and she is stepping back a heartbeat later. Curtsying low, as if he wouldn’t go to his knees before her in an instant. Her breathed “ _ Your Majesty, _ ” before departing has him wanting to fling the crown from his head like never before.


End file.
